Turn Around
by WinterWhirls
Summary: "Stop," she whispers to him, weakly. "Please...stop." Elliot/Olivia.
1. Chapter 1

It is winter, the city outskirts covered with snow, the air frosty and biting at their cheeks. Olivia is pitted against the cold with a black coat; belt tied tight, her face hidden in a plaid wool scarf. Elliot braves the icy air beside her, gloveless, hatless, and complaining.

"It's January, and you don't own a pair of gloves?" she asks, sceptically, raising her eyebrow as they fall into stride along the sidewalk. They'd tried to park as close as possible to the suspect's house, but they still found themselves faced with a considerable walk down the street.

"I do," he defends himself, "but I've also got five kids."

"Ah," she says, in understanding, burying her own clothed hands into the deep recesses of her pockets.

"One-four-nine-seven?" he asks, touching her elbow, jerking his chin in the direction of the brick house in front of them. She looks up, and pulls out the paper with the address scrawled in her rushed handwriting.

"Yep," she says, grinning, happy to be away from the cold.

The suspect takes a while to answer his door, she rings twice, and he suggests that maybe their guy isn't home. When Olivia points out that there is smoke coming from the chimney and that there are lights on, they agree that someone is definitely there. She rings again, and hopes that if she's obnoxious enough, someone will answer.

"What," a tall man, in his mid forties answers their hounding.

"Gerard Heild?" Elliot says, his breath coming in small white puffs.

"Yeah, who wants to know?"

"NYPD," Olivia clarifies, "Mind if we ask you a few questions?"

Gerard's eyes dart around the space of his front steps nervously. "Sure, I uh, I just-," and he takes off, slamming the door in their faces. Olivia can hear his footsteps racing through his apartment.

"Son of a bitch," Elliot swears, and pushes Olivia out of the way as he attempts to kick down the heavy door. While Elliot puts all his energy into breaking the steel door, Olivia races down the snow covered steps and out into the alley that leads to the rear of the house. It is littered with boxes and cans and other trash, and she narrowly avoids falling several times because of the thick layer of ice covering the ground beneath her feet.

"Elliot!" she yells, hoping he can hear, when she spots the retreating form of their suspect running through the parking lot at the mouth of the alley on the other side. "Over here!"

She doesn't wait to hear his response, or for him to catch up to her, because if this guy is their perp, she's not letting him get away. She wants him to burn, to pay for every woman he ever touched. She sprints as fast as her legs will carry her, feeling the burn in her muscles and the parchment in her throat. Her breath escapes her mouth in clouds of white, and when she enters into the parking lot, she skids several feet, her arms flailing in a desperate attempt not to fall. The parking lot is literally an ice rink.

She stands still a moment, chest heaving, hair displaced, gun in hand, looking frantically around the parking lot for Gerard.

She hits the ground as fast as she can when a bullet whizzes past, inches away from her right ear. She gasps at the harsh contact of the hard ground against her body, and crawls around on the ice until she is hidden behind the safety of a parked car. She sits near the right wheel, so that her legs and feet have cover as well. She pants, and leans her head against the car door. She can hear her radio buzzing frantically, and although it's only the sounds of bad reception, she knows it must be Elliot blowing his top because he doesn't know where she is. She'd tell him, she'd talk to him, but she's terrified of giving up her location to their perp. Instead she whispers 'back parking lot' into the radio and promptly turns it off, sighing in relief at the silence, finally able to concentrate.

She gets to her feet and squats, so that just her head is above the window, permitting her to look around. The parking lot has several cars in it, offering many places for cover. She quickly darts out from behind the car, and stalks expertly in the direction from which the bullet came. Her academy stance is perfected. Every five paces she stops, and takes cover behind another vehicle, keeping her eyes trained on the rest of the lot. It unnerves her greatly that she can't see where their suspect is. Right now, she doesn't have the control. Ultimately, even though she's the cop, she is at the disadvantage.

She catches a sudden movement from the corner of her eye, and jerks her arms up, taking aim with her gun. She sees that it's their perp running across the far end. She's about to take her shot when he ducks and turns around, shooting at her instead. Two shot ring out, and two bullets slice through the air by her shoulder.

Angered, she narrows her eyes and takes aim, shooting for his shoulder. She shoots, and isn't surprised when she doesn't hit. He's ducked behind the cover of another car. The bullet hits the car and ricochets with a spark and a ringing noise.

She's also keeping her eyes out for Elliot, because she knows he's got to be in this lot somewhere, too, and there's nothing she wants more than to have him by her side. There's something about his presence that strikes confidence in her, and puts her at ease.

She crawls out from behind the car and streaks across the small clearing between two rows of cars, skidding on the icy ground. Keeping her eyes glued to the car behind which their perp is hiding, she yelps in surprise when she is yanked to her feet by her hair.

"Gotcha."

She gasps loudly.

"Shhhh," says a man she can't see, his voice unfamiliar, and his build foreign to her mind. His rough hand grips her wrist so tightly that the blood flow stops and her muscles pinch and give out and she has no choice but to drop her gun. His other hand is fisted in her hair, pulling her roughly against him, bending her neck back forcing her head against his shoulder. She inhales a sharp breath, trying to catch her breath again, but the guy seems to think that she's about to scream and so he clamps his hand harshly over her mouth.

Olivia struggles, and kicks at his shins with the hard heel of her boot, thrashing her torso from side to side. The man is strong though, and out does her by far, keeping his arms steadily locked around her lithe form. She does manage, however, to wriggle her head free for a few seconds.

"Elliot!" she yells, and her call is cut off half way through when his hand slaps forcefully over her mouth again.

"Shut up!" he hisses in her ear, and throws her roughly against the side of the car. She hits it with a smack, and her head bounces sharply off the window, leaving her in a daze. The man takes this opportunity to his advantage and wraps his hand around her throat, squeezing, and the other pinning her body to the car. "Shut up you little slut."

Olivia blinks rapidly, trying to clear the fog in her mind, wincing as she is crushed to the side of the car.

"You trying to arrest my brother?" the man whispers harshly, pushing against her, his lips at her ear. "You trying to kill my brother?" he is forceful and grabs her hair again, bashing her face off the window once more. The glass crunches under her skull, a spider web shaped crack appearing. Olivia moans and her knees go weak with the pain.

"Leave him alone! You're worth nothing next you him. You're worthless!" The man yells in her face, spitting on her. "Leave him the hell alone! You trying to kill him?"

Olivia knows that neither of them are innocent. She knows that Gerard is a rapist, and that undoubtedly, his brother is his partner in crime.

"_You'll be so sorry you ever came here_!" He yells at her again, face red, fist geared for a punch.

When he hits her and she is thrown down to the ground she is barley cognizant enough to put her arms out to catch herself, and when she does, they're so weak that her elbows buckle instantly and she tumbles to the ground anyway.

It is the violent kick to her gut that makes her vomit.

She soils the ground around her, only able to turn her head so she doesn't choke. She receives a second kick, this time aimed at her ribs, and her sight is marred by lots of tiny bright dots as the pain shoots through her abdomen.

She whimpers, and tries to get her hands under her, trying to lift herself up. Her wrists feel so detached from her body though, and they're shaky when she attempts to rise onto her hands and knees.

"I don't think so, bitch," Gerard's brother says, and hits her over the head with the end of her own weapon, sending her reeling with dizziness, and she sprawls on the ground again.

"Stop," she whispers, not at all sure that the man can even hear her. "Please, stop…"

Her head lifts up and the man turns sharply around when they both hear Elliot call out her name. "Liv? Olivia?" The distance and the cars between them muffle his voice.

She can tell, by the intonation, that he doesn't know where she is, and has simply heard the gunshots and her call for assistance. His tone is severely worried, but she knows he hasn't spotted them yet.

"Elliot…" she tries, managing a moan, and she is vaguely aware that she's got tears flooding her eyes

The man looks back down at her, and realization dons on his face. "There's two of you," he mumbles, and drops quickly to his knees beside her. He rolls her onto her back, for she was curled in the fetal position on her side, rocking herself because of the pain.

He covers her mouth with his rough palm when she starts to cry out, her tears running down past her temples, her hair sprawled out under her head, blood matted in it. He proceeds to straddle her, sitting heavily on her hips and keeping one hand planted firmly over her mouth. Her eyes are wide with fear, and she's hurting, she's hurting. She feels like she's drowning…swimming with all her strength and yet she's loosing the battle and she just can't _breathe_.

Gerard's brother wrenches open her coat and then tears apart her shirt, popping all the buttons. He scratches at her exposed flesh with frantic dirty fingernails, creating long stripes of red along her chest and stomach. Olivia thrashes, trying to get away. "No…"

"Olivia!" She hears Elliot call out again, and thank God, it seems like he's closer.

She bites down hard on the man's hand, a desperate attempt for freedom, and he curses and out of reflex, removes it. She packs up all of her strength and delivers the loudest, strongest scream she possibly could have in her current state. It echoes around the lot several seconds after the initial sound has been cut off.

That little stunt earns her a harsh slap across her cheek. She lies there, stunned into silence, staring up at the man on top of her with dilated pupils. She _knows _she came here for a reason…_knows _there's a stranger sitting on top of her, but she'd give anything if she could only _remember_…

"Don't make any noise," he says harshly, and digs his hands down into her pants.

"No," she moans again, "No, no…" She's crying, torrents running freely down her face. Her hands are pinched uselessly under the man's knees, unable to help her in any way, despite the jerking of her arms trying to get free. She stops making coherent sounds when she gasps at the cold dread that slices though her when she feels his hands slide into her panties. And then his fingers roughly find her. His dirty, filthy, slimy, disgusting fingers slipping harshly against her centre.

"How'd you like that, huh? How do you like it when people surprise _you_? I bet you love it. You love it, don't you? Yeah, that's it. That's it, baby."

Suddenly, a shot rings out and then there is a heavy weight on top of her, crushing her chest, the man's full body mass falling onto her torso. She splutters and coughs, trying to breathe in.

And then Elliot is there, yelling her name, pulling the bastard's hands out of her pants and cuffing the dead man and yanking him away from her, throwing him on the ground. Elliot comes back and kneels beside her, leaning over her, his eyes bright blue and horribly worried, scared.

"Liv?" He reaches out to touch her, but all Olivia registers is the hand that's coming near her body. She flinches and tries to scoot away.

"Okay, okay," Elliot says calmly, raising his hands by his head. "Shhhh, it's okay, Olivia, it's over."

She feels so insanely pathetic, and she closes her eyes and cries. Elliot keeps trying to talk to her. Finally Olivia gets enough air in her lungs to think more rationally, and she sees Elliot's face close beside her, swimming and distorted behind the tears in her eyes. She reaches out desperately, and her hand comes in contact with the material of his shirt. She holds on, at tight as she can, latching onto the one person that makes her feel safer. Elliot's hand covers hers and squeezes tightly, before releasing her and reaching for both sides of her coat. He grips them steadily and brings them back over her body, holding it closed at the middle over her bare skin. There isn't anything to be done about her shirt, it is shredded. With one hand holding her coat closed, he hesitantly moves to her pants, not sure what her reaction will be.

She doesn't even seem to notice that he's touching her, and so he gently pulls them back correctly on her hips and buttons them. With his phone he calls for a bus.

"Olivia?" he murmurs, leaning over her again. "It's okay. Shhhh." He tries to calm her, but she keeps shaking, not registering his words. "Breathe, Olivia. Help's coming."

"El," she coughs, and a small dribble of blood escapes from the corner of her mouth.

He slides his arms under her and holds her body as close as he can without moving her too much, mindful of her injuries. "It's over now, it's all over. You're safe with me."

They lie in the cold and wait for the ambulance.


	2. Chapter 2

Seeing his partner under that man, seeing her kick and fight with everything she had, if only for the sole reason of regaining personal control over her body, has destroyed Elliot. Sent him reeling from his comfort zone, only to cause him to trip and fall into an ocean of ice-cold dread. It's nullified his ability to react and think rationally, and it has obliterated any tenuous sense of security he may have previously possessed.

And now, as he supports her lithe form with the muscles of his forearms and tries to rock her back into the realm of the rational, he's pretty sure he's never felt anything quite as horrible before.

Because he's not at all sure that the man he'd shot hadn't done anything past beating his partner. From the angle at which he had been standing, he hadn't really been able to see. He's been entirely unsuccessful in his strive to comfort her, to get her to talk to him. He has never before seen his strong, independent partner act the way she does at the moment, and to be honest, it has totally spun him off his axis. He's become attuned to her attitudes, he's made mental notes and habits to himself as to what certain behaviours mean. He's taught himself the correct way to act around her when she was angry, frustrated, happy, or sad.

But he's never seen her like this so he's drawing a blank at how to go about it. He's thinking that he's also in shock, and that's why all his training hasn't kicked in yet.

It is January, and despite the fact that much adrenaline is pumping through his system right now, he's starting to feel the chilling effects of sitting on the snowy ground. And he deduces that if he's cold, Olivia must be at least ten times worse. He rubs his hand up and down her bicep several times, trying to generate warmth.

She hasn't really spoken, hasn't tried to communicate with him, but he knows that she knows he's there because her right hand remains clenched around the lapel of his jacket, her knuckles white.

"Olivia?" He asks, lacing his fingers in her hair, biting his lip with worry because there's a lot of blood seeping from a skull wound he cannot see, turning her glossy locks into sticky meshes.

She makes no verbal response besides her continuous laboured breathing, but her eyes open and stare up at him, acknowledging his words.

"You're going to be just fine," he tells her, his breath hitting her face in a soft cloud of white air. "Okay?" He pants, and his exhalations make loose strands of her hair breeze around.

"Ok-kay," she responds, and lifts her other arm shakily, poking at her ribcage and looking at him with fluttering, dazed brown eyes. "El," she mumbles, pushing weakly on her ribcage and wincing.

"You hurt here?" he asks her, cupping her jaw, trying to catch her gaze. Her eyes start to close, and so he holds her jaw more firmly and gives her a shake a couple times. "Olivia? Does that hurt?" he asks again, cocking his head so that she can see into his eyes. She nods imperceptibly, a slight movement of her head up and down, breathing hard.

Elliot slowly brings his hand from behind her to rest lightly on the left side of her ribcage, and he feels around gently with his fingertips, noticing with dread that there are several unnatural bumps and hard points procuring from her ribs. They must be cracked, maybe fractured.

"Pu-push," Olivia pleads, bringing her hand on top of his, all the while panting heavily.

"What?" Elliot asks, confused.

"Push, El," she whispers, clenching her eyes shut, and pushing down weakly on his hand, consequently adding pressure to her ribcage. She cries out, but quickly bites her lip.

"Liv!" Elliot exclaims, snatching his hand away.

"Unhh!" she protests, whimpering and starting to cry again. "Please," she says, frustrated and crying, and he thinks his heart is definitely broken. He moves his hand to rest on her rib again.

Elliot is confused, but the state in which Olivia finds herself pushes him to do what she asks, trying desperately to put her at ease. "I can't," he hesitates, and then gently removes his hands from the spot where there is a definite raised bump. Olivia immediately yelps, and bites her lips, and although he wants with every fibre of his being to help his partner, she is in too much pain, and he knows that pushing on her rib is a very bad idea.

And then her breathing becomes less erratic, and she manages a small smile. "B-bastard," she murmurs, with a slight smirk, because she knows exactly what he's doing…or why he's_ not_ doing it. Then her head slumps to the side, and her eyes close.

"Liv!" He yells. "Olivia, Liv, Liv, Liv," he warns, gently shaking her shoulder. "Come on, hang on."

"Let me…sleep," she complains, her tears making her face red, her chest heaving. "Please. Just…"

"You will, you will I promise, but you've got to stay awake, okay? Stay awake Olivia." He lifted his arms higher, helping her into a more inclined position, and she promptly vomits into his lap, coughing and renewing her gasps.

Elliot pauses for a moment, stunned, and then, "Okay, Okay." He soothes. "Over?" He asks, stroking her back, checking her.

She nods limply, letting him know that she doesn't think she's going to throw up again. Elliot shifts slightly at the uncomfortably warm feeling of his soiled slacks, but otherwise focuses on comforting her, because she seems to be getting increasingly scared.

"Shhhh," he rocks her. "Can you hear that? Those are the sirens, Liv. They're coming. Hold on."

"Want to…sleep," she protests weakly, closing her eyes.

"No, not yet honey, not yet. Soon. Soon, I promise."

But Olivia seems too frail to even consider his words, for her body goes limp and her eyes close.

Elliot tips his head toward the sky and urges the bus to get there quickly. He only relaxes when he sees the lights racing around the corner, though the other entrance to the lot. A medical team hops out once they're close enough, dragging a stretcher behind them, running to meet Elliot.

"She's got fractured ribs, I'm sure," Elliot starts, holding tightly to Olivia's hand as one of the paramedics feels for a pulse. "She's beat up real bad," he continues, trying his best to inform the medic, who is getting on Elliot's nerves because he doesn't seem to be listening. "Hey!" he calls out, but in the commotion, no one answers him.

"Sir?" another medic asks, looking at Elliot, and then back down to Olivia's torn shirt and crooked slacks. "What is the extent of her attack?"

"I – uh, I…don't know. I only saw – I think she's been -," Elliot rambles, voice rising higher with each word.

"Sir, relax, we've got this under control," the new medic reassures him with a hand on his shoulder. He nods in acknowledgment of Elliot's suspicion that Olivia had been sexually assaulted. "Are you riding along?"

"Yes!" Elliot jumps on the opportunity, and gives Olivia's hand another squeeze.

"Alright." And then louder, to the rest of the team: "Let's GO!"

Elliot trots along beside the gurney, gently removing the hair from Olivia's eyes and still gripping her hand tightly in his.

"Come on, Liv. Come on."


	3. Chapter 3

She risks a glance at him, and then shyly averts her gaze away from him, toward the hospital room window. "Don't."

The white sheet is pulled up to her waist, and a pale violet gown covers her torso. A thick patch of gauze is secured to the back of her skull by a band of medical tape that circles the circumference of her head.

"Olivia," he murmurs, from his seat in the hard chair beside her bed, "Don't start this, okay?" He leans forward, and takes her cold hand in his own. "Okay?" he gives it a small shake, trying to get his message across. "Liv," he gently urges, squeezing her hand.

After several breaths of silence she speaks, but her eyes stay petulantly turned away from him. "I have nothing to say," she amends, looking down at her lap. "Please, just drop it, okay?"

His eyes close briefly, out of frustration, and he fleetingly thinks back over the last several hours. The ambulance ride had been hell. They had had to sedate her.

Olivia had slept for three hours and, because of the head injury, has to stay awake for the next hour.

"Olivia, I'm asking you," he softens his voice at her flinch, "to tell me the truth," he gently encourages, rubbing the pad of his thumb soothingly across the soft skin on the back of her hand. He tries to swallow his hurt as she snatches her hand away from him. This isn't about me, he reminds himself constantly.

"There's nothing to tell," she says adamantly, dropping her gaze to the blanket that covers her, willing the moisture in her eyes to disappear as the events of the parking lot replay in her mind.

"Olivia," he starts, getting up from his chair and sitting carefully on the small amount of space allotted to him on the side of her bed. He places a warm hand on the side of her face, cupping her cheek. "There's absolutely nothing to be ashamed of." Elliot ducks his head to the side, trying to catch her tired gaze. "Nothing."

"Don't play games with me," She growls, shifting painfully away from him on the small bed. "I know how this works, and I know what I'm doing. I'm fine." She tentatively meets his gaze, and softens her voice. "Please, just leave it alone."

Elliot is not surprised at her reaction. It is, in fact, the very thing he has anticipated. Although he doesn't think that Olivia was raped, there's a cold feeling residing in his gut at the image of Olivia's torn shirt and lowered slacks. He knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Olivia is hiding something from him, no matter how small it is. He wants nothing more than to make her feel at ease, safe, and he knows that as long as her mind dwells on the accident in the parking lot, she'll never feel secure. He knows she wants to share. Needs to share.

"Liv," he whispers, his index finger guiding her chin to look at him as he sits on the edge of her cot. "It's alright to tell me." His eyes portray the honesty he feels, and he tries to convey how much he wants to help her. Her eyes have that deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression again, and it throws him off a bit because he's definitely not used to seeing it on her. He can only hope that she's as okay as she says she is. He can only hope that she'll let him take care of her. "You can trust me."

Because he wasn't there for her. He didn't do his duty as her partner and he let her down. He doesn't know what happened.

Olivia swallows thickly, and her eyes still don't meet his, but he can tell that she's considering his words. Her fingers fidget restlessly with the edge of the quilt, picking at the loose threads, unravelling the terrycloth and twisting it tightly around her fingers.

"Um…" she says, and it's quiet and unsure.

He places a gentle hand on her thigh, just a reminder.

"Um," her voice cracks. "Uh, I think I really want to go home," her voice climbs higher and higher as she speaks, and it's strung tight, like she's trying to keep the tears at bay.

"Olivia -," he starts, disapprovingly.

"No," she interrupts decidedly, with a shake of her head. "Take me home."

Elliot sighs, and gives her hand another light squeeze. "Okay." He tries for a smile, but it probably comes out as a grimace. "Okay, let me go talk to your doctor."

* * *

><p>Olivia had been furious that she'd had to stay in hospital for another two days before she got the green light, but her complaints had ceased and her willingness to work with Elliot cooperatively had returned the moment she'd handed Elliot her discharge papers. And so it is with determination that she treks to his car, excited to get home as soon as possible.<p>

Elliot's having a tough time making his way to his jeep, juggling the keys, three packets of prescription drugs, and her backpack containing several of her overnight belongings on one arm, while holding her tightly around the waist with the other. She's breathing laboriously, and he's staring to doubt the doctor's words that 'she'll be okay if she stays in bed for a while.' She has two fractured ribs; both on the left side of her body, accompanied by a fantastic bruise the size and shape of the average shoe. The doctor had warned her that they would prove to be very painful once the pain medication wore off, so the nurses had pumped her system full of morphine for the trip home.

Olivia limps along beside him, holding tightly to his shoulder and the hand at her hip, taking to holding her breath and then releasing it in huge gusts when she can no longer stand to keep it in. But she's determined. A lucky thing, for the drugs have her wiped.

"You okay?" Elliot asks, for the sixth time since exiting through the main doors of the hospital.

"Mmyeah," she slurs, too focused on making it to the car to tell him to shut up.

"Are you sure? Because the doctor said-,"

"S'fine, El," she insists, out of breath. "Just," she inhales. "Get to," she exhales, "th'car."

"We're almost there," he encourages, a sweat breaking out on his brow, for he supports most of her weight.

"Yeah," she huffs out, nodding and dropping her head to his shoulder.

* * *

><p>Elliot inserts the key into the lock on the door of her apartment, hasty to get inside. It is dark, the only light coming from a dim lamp about halfway down the hall, and because of Olivia's body, the handle is cast into the shadows. Olivia leans her full body weight on him, her head lulling from side to side in the crook of his neck, the morphine kicking in full force, and she's mumbling about how much she hates the winter.<p>

"S'always too damn cold," she slurs sleepily, her breath hitting the side of his neck warmly. "Hey El, I'm cold."

"I know," he says, acknowledging her words, not really listening to what she's saying. "Let's get inside, Olivia," he pushes the door open with his foot and dumps all of the things he's been carrying onto the floor right inside her door. "Careful," he warns her against the clutter on the floor, holding her up with his forearms under her armpits, her back against his chest. Olivia's head falls back and hits the bone of his shoulder with a thud. She groans sleepily.

"What's wrong, Liv?" he asks, a smile tugging on his lips at her grumpiness, and the fact that her horrid accident is apparently forgotten for the time being.

"S'mthng n ma fttt."

"What's that?" he asks, trying desperately to understand what she's saying.

"S'mthing's on my feet," she says again, sniffling. "Elliot," and she whines, and she's becoming restless and upset at the thought of unknown things blocking her from walking properly. "Geddit offff…"

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's alright," he soothes, trying to calm her down. He looks down at her feet to see nothing but her clunky, untied shoes, and wonders if that's what's bothering her. "I'm here to help you," he explains, as he squats next to her and slips off her work shoes. "There." He states, standing back up and supporting her again. "Better?"

"Mmmffff."

"Better, Olivia?" He gives her a nudge.

"Mmmmm," she says, and turns in his arms to slump against him. "Sleepy," she states, her cheek on his shoulder.

"I know. Come on, let' s get to bed," he tells her, walking her slowly backwards towards her bedroom.

"El," she whispers, as he passes the threshold of her room, and casts a quick glance around for her pyjamas. "Eeellllll," she slurs, bringing her hand up and trying to touch his face, missing his cheek, and crushing his nose painfully with her fist. "Elliot,"

"Yes," he answers, locating her pyjamas in a ball by her closet. He deposits her softly on her bed, laying her down, and going to retrieve her pyjamas. She doesn't answer him, and he didn't really expect her to. He picks up her sleep clothes, consisting of a tank top and cotton light blue pants, and turns them right side out before walking back to Olivia, who is lying on her side, facing away from him. Her breathing is steady and her shoulders rise and fall in a fixed rhythm, and her eyes are closed. The morphine has kicked her right out.

Elliot rolls her until she rests peacefully on her back, slightly inclined by the pillows, the position the doctor suggested for maximum comfort for her ribs. He sets her pyjamas down on her other side, and softly brushes the hair from her eyes.

"I'll be on the couch, Liv, if you need me," Elliot whispers, and it's more for his comfort than for hers, because he knows that she's asleep, entirely wiped from the drugs.

He covers her with her comforter, tucking it safely around her, before walking into her dining room. He leaves the door to her bedroom half open, and an ear out for any sounds. He knows that she probably won't wake for a while, but he's on edge nonetheless.

Retrieving her prescriptions from the bag on the floor, he counts out the pills she is to take in the morning and sets them out on the counter next to a huge glass of water. He drinks the water in large gulps, then re-fills it and sets in next to the pills again.

Elliot's been here a handful of times; he knows where she keeps the sheets and extra pillowcases. He gathers what he needs from the linen closet in the bathroom, and walks back to her couch. He covers the throw pillow with a pillowcase, and kicks off his shoes and socks as he stretches out under the soft, Olivia-smelling blanket, exhausted.

It isn't long before sleep claims him.

* * *

><p>His eyes snap open, and he sits bolt upright on her couch, nearly falling off it. He strains his ears and his eyes; intent on discovering what is was that pulled him from sleep. The numbers on her microwave blare green; it is three twenty-three in the morning. Everything is silent, with the exception of the errant car passing by below. He is about to conclude that he is all too paranoid and lie back down, when he hears it again.<p>

The sniffle. The noisy ruffling of sheets in the bedroom. Olivia.

He scrambles to his feet and almost trips over the sheet tangled around his shins as he hurries to get to her. "Jesus," he mutters, and kicks the sheet away. He bunches the sheet with his hands and throws it back onto the couch.

He runs down the short hallway, and throws open her door, approaching her quickly. She's struggling with her sheets, all tangled in them, and her fighting only makes them wind tighter around her. Her hair is wet with perspiration.

Her eyes remain steadily closed though, and he knows that she's still sleeping.

"Olivia!" He calls, trying to help her with the blankets. "Wake up."

She doesn't, just fights him too, scratching at his arms when her jerking hands come into contact with him.

"Hey, hey," he encourages, tugging at the sheets, loosening them from around her, and shaking her shoulder in a futile effort to waken her.

He doesn't expect her right hook, which is how she manages to clock him a good one in the jaw. He stands there, leaning over her wriggling body, stunned for a moment, letting the ache of it wash over him. And then he watches in acute horror as she wakes herself up, reacting to the pain in her hand and the pain in her side.

"Ung," she clutches her hand to her chest, her eyes frighteningly wide, her breathing erratic. "El," she pants, and her head snaps around to look at him.

He fold his arms around her, ignoring the pounding in his jaw, he envelops her in his safe embrace, whispering words of reassurance and of affection.

"Don't touch me," she warns, pushing against his chest with her palms, her shaky inhales causing her chest to tremble.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes; raising his hands by his head and backing away a pace, blame coursing through him steadily. He mentally berates himself for forgetting all the rules in these situations.

"Liv it's over," he murmurs, trying to reach her from his distanced position. "It's all over."

And then she's scrambling desperately, her face contorted in pain at the movement of her ribs, frantically slipping down from her bed and tripping drunkenly into the adjoining bathroom, her arms are pushing against the doorframe propelling her toward the toilet.

Clutching her ribs in a panicked hug to try to ease the pain, she vomits violently into the bowl. "God," she expels, crouched over, her breathing heavy. "Fuck." She coughs and is sick again.

He hurries to her side, and pulls her hair back loosely in a one handed ponytail, his other hand cupping her forehead. "Okay," he whispers, standing behind her. "It's just the drugs, Liv. It'll be over soon," he soothes.

"Oh, fuck," she whimpers, and another tremor races through her body, wracking her broken ribs, causing her to clutch them again as another wave of nausea hits her.

* * *

><p>"Can you…" she mumbles, from her spot in her bed, tucked under the thick blanket with a box of Kleenex and a plastic bowl.<p>

"Yeah?" He turns and walks back toward her.

"Can you…stay till I fall asleep?"

He nods, offering her a small smile. "Sure."

"Th-thank you," she breathes, her eyes fluttering closed. "I'm fine, El, just…"

"It's okay," he whispers, running his hand down her arm slowly. "You don't need to explain." At least not yet, he thinks to himself. He desperately wants her to trust him.

He sits on the edge of her bed, his eyes trained on the white blanket beneath him, as her eyes close and he listens to her breathing evening out.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for your continued support, I love you feedback! I'll try to reply to your reviews ASAP, once my life stops being a five year old and running away from me. Seriously.

Elliot stands in his grey sleep shirt at the window in Olivia's kitchenette, a glass of water in his right hand. The early morning sun streams through the window in that crisp, fresh way only the matinee hours can bring. His eyes crinkle at it's brightness, and he stands before her sink, observing the people of New York already on their way to start the day. He is still slightly groggy from sleep, haven woken up just minutes previously, his neck sore from the ridiculous position he'd taken up on her couch. After her crisis last night, Olivia had locked herself in her small bathroom and told him quietly to please leave her alone. He'd acquiesced, deciding not to press her, but he'd sat down along the wall just outside her bathroom door for a long while. Eventually, he'd gotten up, cleaned up her mess in the bedroom, and relocated to the couch, only to lie awake thinking of recent events. The minutes had drug on for a long time, and he'd been slipping into unconsciousness when he'd heard Olivia pad down the hallway and slip back into bed.

He sighs heavily, and rubs his face with a rough hand before turning to his right, and setting the glass full of water down on the counter beside an assortment of pills. Elliot sets both palms on the edge of the counter, shoulder width apart, and bows his head, breathing steadily in through his nose. He opens his red-rimmed eyes, and checks the clock. Six forty-five. He's already let her sleep almost an hour longer than he's supposed to, doctor's orders were to take the painkillers at six each morning.

He collects Olivia's painkillers in his palm, folding his fist around them, and takes the glass in the other hand.

Opening the door to her bedroom hesitantly, he is met by the same bright light that filters through the kitchen window, because Olivia forgot to draw her blinds last night. She's still knocked out, lying on the edge of the bed furthest from him, on her stomach, one arm folder under her head of brown hair, the other stretched out across the remaining space of the mattress, hand dangling over the edge limply. Her back, clad in a black tank top, rises and falls with a reassuringly steady rhythm.

Elliot pushes the door open the remainder of the way with his hip, and pads lightly across the room to her. He sets her medication down on her nightstand, and squats down next to the bed to be eye level with her. He touches her shoulder, and gives her a gentle shake.

"Olivia?" He murmurs, trying to rouse her. "Liv?" He gives her shoulder a slightly more agitated shake. "C'mon, time to get up," he continues in a soft voice.

She opens her eyes, and a flash of sleepy brown greets him, before she slams then shut again, sheltering herself from the onslaught of bright light. "Mmmfff," she mumbles, turning her face away from him and into her pillow. "El."

He chuckles nervously, all too aware of how horrible the previous night was, not sure what her reaction will be. He places his heavy, warm palm on her back, rubbing slow circles. "How d'ya feel?" he asks, gently, because the last thing he wants to do is push her.

"Uunnhh," she moans into her pillow, "Ever bin' hit by a bus?"

He chuckles more openly now; because she's all right enough to be cracking jokes. "Can't say that I have, Liv, but…I'll call you when it happens."

She groans again, and manages a chuckle. "God. This –," she growls as she rolls onto her back, the sheet tangles around her waist. "-Is the worst thing you can –ah!-imagine, El."

He draws in a breath through clenched teeth, "Sorry, Liv," he says sincerely, wincing at her pain.

"Heh, you didn't…" she breaks off and swallows hard, her eyes flitting to his. "You didn't hurt me like this."

He looks away, because the level of awkward has just risen to ten times it's appropriate size, and he can tell she's remembering last night. He clears his throat, because something is stuck there, and it's something to do.

"Uh," he starts, "Here're your meds." He reaches to the bedside table, and takes her pills in his hand along with the water. She struggles, but manages to sit up.

"God, all of those?" she complains, resting heavily against her headboard. She folds her arms across her stomach, and it pushes her breasts up, and he tries his hardest not to look. He fails. And then Elliot recalls that she's never been good at swallowing pills. Every time he's seen her taking Advil at the station, she can never swallow it. A look at intense concentration always crosses her face, and she swallows hard, frowning when it doesn't go down. She says her tongue always gets in the way.

"Yep. All of them." He pats her on the head and hands her the pills and water. She winces, though whether it's due to the amount of medicine, or the pain in her ribs he isn't sure. He stands and makes his way back to the door.

"Liv?" He asks, turning back to her.

"Yeah?"

"I, uh, put your sheets by the washer."

She blushes and looks at her lap. "Okay. Thank you." And then she looks up at him. "I'm sorry about last night, El." She bites her lip so hard he can see it turning white.

"Don't apologize. It's over now." He doesn't want to say anything like 'it's okay', or 'it's fine', because it really, really isn't, the situation was far from okay, severely damaging her psyche, and he knows Olivia will be pissed off if she catches him lying.

"Hmm." She looks at her lap again.

"And Liv?"

"What, El?" She murmurs, still looking at her lap. He scratches the back of his neck, a nervous habit that he's always had.

"Whaddaya want for breakfast?"

"Uh," she winces, and takes a deep breath. He can tell she's in a lot of pain, but doesn't want to show it. "Anything's fine. Really."

"Okay. Oh, and Liv?"

She chuckles tightly, once. "Yes, El?"

He gestures to the pills she holds in her palm, and then looks up at her seriously, the classic 'mother look'. "All. Of. Them."

She sighs and grins guiltily. "Yep."

He returns her smile, just a small one, and then leaves the room to go make breakfast.

****

The ring of the phone is shrill and it echoes around the walls of her apartment. Olivia has been absent from the room for about ten minutes, and Elliot assumes she's gone to shower.

She throws the dishtowel over his shoulder and closes the dishwasher with his hip. He walks across the kitchen to where the phone rests in its cradle.

"Stabler," he answers, used to his professional greeting.

"Elliot?" the voice is that of Don Cragen, his captain.

"Cap," Elliot acknowledges, with a gentle sigh.

"Want to explain why I only hear about this this morning?" He asks, bitterly.

"Yeah, well, we've been a little overwhelmed," Elliot bites off, irritated at a lack of sleep and at his captain's angered reply.

"Don't make excuses," Don continues, "Just…fill me in."

"We went to question Gerard, you remember." Elliot starts, and continues at his captain's affirmative sound. "Well, he surprised us with a little chase," Elliot sighs. "Liv followed him out back to a parking lot. Cap, I don't know what went down back there, but," Elliot rubs his hand across his face again. "It's not good. I was trying to break down the door. Didn't know there was a back door to the house. Liv took off, she didn't communicate, I didn't know, I lost sight of Liv, I-,"

"Whoa, Elliot, stop. Slow down. You _know _this isn't your fault. Whatever happened…it was because of the bastards you went to arrest."

"Cap - I heard shots, and I followed her, and the next damn thing I knew she was screaming my name. I find her, and there's this goddammed _huge _guy on top of her. I don't –," Elliot breaks off abruptly, his voice cracking. "I don't know if…"

"Elliot," Don whispers, his voice hoarse. "Don't tell me -,"

"I don't _know_!" he hisses into the phone, trying to keep his voice down.

"Well…" Don's voice is shaky. "What was the evidence?"

"Bastard had her shirt torn open…his, uh, his hand were…in her pants. Her underwear."

Cragen draws in an unstable breath, and exhales heavily. "Elliot. You need to…ask her."

"I did," he whispers, holding the phone with shaky hands. "I asked her as soon as she woke up."

"And?"

"And, she shut down on me. Completely."

Cragen clears his throat uncomfortably, hesitant about discussing his detective in such a private way. "Elliot, we've dealt with this type of thing in…victims…before. You have to keep trying."

Elliot's voice is wobbly when he speaks. "No. No way. I'm not. I'm not gonna make her go though-,"

"Would you rather I send someone else to do it?" His voice is slightly sarcastic, and it sends Elliot's nerves reeling. They're talking about Olivia, for crying out loud, his friend, his best friend. Cragen continues, softer now, compassionate. "Don't you think she'd be more comfortable if it were you?"

"Cap -,"

"Elliot. Think. She's Olivia. I _know _it terrifying for you. But she needs you. You. Not some department shrink that she's got no relationship to. Okay? Do you know what I mean?"

Elliot breathes steadily into the phone for several breaths, his captain's words churning in his mind. He loves Olivia, that much is certain, and now he's torn. Torn between being her support, being there for her in his entirety, or saving her by not putting her through what he fears will be the worst ordeal of her life.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." He finally relents. "I'll…talk to her."

"Elliot."

"What?"

"How is she? Really."

Elliot sighs deeply, and thinks that this may be one of the most draining conversations he's ever had. "Really? Not good, Cap. She's had a hell of a night, and on top of everything emotional, she's in bad physical pain too."

Cragen clears his throat. "Do you…think she's up for a visit?"

"I don't know. Maybe…tomorrow."

"Okay. Thank you, Elliot. I take it you're staying with her?"

"Yeah," he says, not at all hesitant.

"Good."

Elliot can hear the door to the bathroom opening, and seconds after it opens, steam floats into the rest of the apartment. "Cap, I gotta go."

"Okay. Take care. Both of you."

Elliot hangs up and leans his head to the side, trying to see around to the hallway. Sure enough, Olivia, clad in a soft blue towel, pads lightly down to her bedroom. Elliot turns back to the sink.

"Hey, Liv?" he calls, loud enough for her to hear. There is no reply. "Olivia?" he calls again, a bit louder.

"Hmmm?" She calls back, and she's left the door to her room open.

"How you feeling?"

After a delayed silence, Olivia responds, tightly, "I'm fine." Her voice is resolute, and Elliot knows that the task his captain has just given him will be one of the hardest task he's ever had.


End file.
